


burn me down

by Askew



Category: Raven Cycle - Maggie Stiefvater
Genre: Implied Sexual Content, M/M, Underage Drug Use
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-12
Updated: 2018-09-12
Packaged: 2019-07-11 13:01:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 674
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15972839
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Askew/pseuds/Askew
Summary: He knows exactly what he is to Ronan. A nasty habit, a poisonous whim. Just another one of his dream creatures.





	burn me down

**Author's Note:**

> I'm obsessed with thug boys and Ronan Lynch in general. Hope you'll enjoy it !  
> Many thanks to Pia for her beta-reading ♡

There isn’t much to it. Cigarettes and drag races, fireworks and forgery.

Late conversations in the back of the car, when the night is so dark and the fog so heavy he can barely see Ronan’s eyes through the smoke — he has to get closer. They kiss, and on his tongue, the green pills send them both to the same ordinary hell. Ronan’s dreams, or his own — the garden of evil, it turns out, is a place large enough for two lost souls to share.

—

Kavinsky is always the first to emerge. In the thirty seconds while Ronan lies awake, frozen and vulnerable, he could do anything. The thought makes him shiver. He lights a cigarette, greets him back with a smirk.

« Wake up, motherfucker ».

Ronan’s hand crosses the cloud of smoke to catch his cigarette. He takes a puff and raises his middle finger, the tattoos on his back roll and whirl, a black sea of fangs and claws.

He knows exactly what he is to Ronan. A nasty habit, a poisonous whim. Just another one of his dream creatures — fearful and obedient. They get high together. They get down together. He loves the thrill of it. The way it hurts, even. When he is left at dawn, longing for more, the sour ache of the burn lingering in his bones — that, too, is Ronan Lynch.

He knows there will be times when only the faded memories of the pain will remain. He has to take it all, stock some up for later.

If he is Ronan’s whim, Ronan is his slow burn, his drug of choice.

—

They only have sex when they’re dreaming. Cabeswater is a secluded place, a secure place, a sacred hole for them to fall into. The trees are their witnesses. They’re talking to them, he can tell, but he doesn’t know a word of latin and he doesn’t ask Ronan to translate. Instead, he grabs his waist, his hand finds its way around Ronan’s neck — he pulls him closer and crushes his lips against his. There is nothing gentle about those kisses, but they both need the urgency.

Night horrors fly by. Ronan keeps them at bay.

Sometimes they run through the woods and play a quirky game of hide-and-seek. Ronan disappears into the lush jungle, Kavinsky conjures his most wicked nightmares. Because they’re products of his demented mind they are uncanny and unreliable. They could probably rip Ronan to pieces, but that’s part of the game. After all, death is nothing but a boring side effect.

And Ronan is good at hiding. He lurks in the thickets to take him by surprise, jumps at his back, howling. They roll on the ground.

There are flowers and beasts, mountains of motley junk from previous trips. They never take anything back.

—

The text is from Gansey. Or Adam, or Blue — he doesn’t care.

The blue light of the screen draws distorted shadows on Ronan’s cheeks and jaw. He frowns.

« Gotta go » .

K doesn’t even try to make him change his mind. He throws his shirt at him, makes a show of sneering, rolls his eyes.

« I’m sorry » Ronan says. He doesn’t sound like it, though. He’s in a hurry, forgetful, delighted to crawl back to Gansey. A tame puppy.

K shrugs.

« Get over yourself, Lynch. I won’t miss you ».

But he already does. Ronan slams the door shut and he wallows in the back seat of the car, swallows another pill.

—

At the end of the day, he’s the only one to blame for this mess. They will never be more, because he’s trash, because he doesn’t fit in Ronan’s perfect life — there are only pieces of him he can gather, the hollow ones, and he’s clinging to them, drawing Ronan into his own darkness.

When they talk their words taste like oil, gasoline and black sap. When they fuck they are cars colliding at high speed, harrowing and gorgeous.

That’s all he has to offer. Drag races and cigarettes, fireworks and forgeries.

For now, that’s all he needs.


End file.
